The Secret World of Dragons

by Sandra Harvey

  As Emma thought on these many things, the two dragons approached a far more stable piece of land. The softness of the earth came to an abrupt end and the sand turned to stone – or what seemed like stone. It was more like dirt hardened by the sun for many years, but it sounded like stone when struck against by Redfyre’s claws. The two dragons stopped underneath the shade of a knot of trees, lying down where the sun could not touch them any longer.

  The three humans and Mystic the cat were quick to dismount their rides, also staying beyond the reach of the long arms of the sun. Emma sat down against the trunk of the narrow tree, stretching out her legs in exhaustion. Simon was right about riding – she would have to get used to it. Though, if Vashgal was far away, then she would have plenty of time to adapt to dragon riding.

  ‘Tired?’ Mystic trotted over and sat down in front of her. ‘The Outlands reach temperatures far higher than this.’

  ‘Fabulous,’ murmured Emma.

  Mystic seemed to smirk. ‘The dragons think it is. They hate coldness.’

  Simon walked over to where they both sat. He passed Emma a water bottle, who gratefully accepted it as though it was the most precious thing on earth. She lifted the bottle to her lips and did not stop drinking until it was nearly half gone.

  ‘Careful,’ warned Mystic. ‘That’s all you have.’

  ‘What!’ Emma glanced at the bottle, suddenly regretful of her eagerness.

  ‘Just kidding,’ said Mystic, chuckling to himself. He pointed one paw to the river – now to Emma’s left. ‘You can refill the bottle in the Serpent’s Pass.’

  ‘Serpent’s Pass?’ Emma looked to the snaking river. ‘It doesn’t look like much of a passageway to me.’

  ‘It was long ago,’ said Mystic. ‘The river ran through Dragon City. It was wider then, much wider. Boats filled the channel, ships with carved dragons as their figureheads.’ He glanced up at Emma, his eyes dark. ‘The world wasn’t always accessible by dragons.’

  Of course Emma knew that now, after hearing the dreadful story of Lucian and Vanyir.

  ‘It took one hundred years to build that city,’ murmured the cat, his eyes searching the barren lands as though looking for some sign that it still existed. ‘It only took one battle to bring it down.’

  ‘Lucian’s battle, right?’ said Emma.

  Mystic shook his head. ‘No, Lucian never witnessed the fall of his home. This was after his death. When the dragons and their riders were long defeated, Vanyir rode out and destroyed every inch of Dragon City.’ The cat pawed at the earth, sweeping the sand away like dust. ‘Just like that,’ he whispered sadly. ‘It was all gone.’

  ‘Then why didn’t Lucian stop him when he had the chance!’ Emma was angry now. A force so powerful and evil should not have been left to roam the world so freely.

  ‘Because Lucian thought Vanyir would change,’ replied Mystic. ‘He gave Vanyir what no one else could … and that was hope. They were close friends. Lucian did not want it to end as it did. He had faith in Vanyir, but Vanyir chose the darker road.’

  ‘Then Lucian was stupid,’ muttered Emma, as she resealed her water bottle. ‘He was incredibly stupid. He let that guy kill him. It’s a stupid story with a stupid ending. None of it should have happened.’ She took a long breath and then looked down at Mystic. ‘Why did Vanyir want to rule so badly, anyway?’

  Mystic shrugged. ‘You’d have to ask a dead man that,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t know the answer. I simply think: what do all humans desire most? And I answer myself: power, they want power most.’

  ‘That isn’t true,’ said Emma, annoyed that he would even come to that conclusion. ‘All humans are not like that. I don’t desire power. What does that make me?’

  Mystic seemed to smile. ‘That makes you a girl.’

  ‘What do genders have to do with anything?’ muttered Emma.

  ‘Lots,’ answered the cat. ‘Have you ever read a book where the bad guy was in fact a bad girl?’ He let her think for a moment before answering, ‘Of course not. The only wicked women in books are those contained in fairytale stories. But those are all witches, aren’t they? Since witches don’t exist, I’ll just rule out the female gender entirely when it comes to wickedness. Therefore, I conclude that the only power seekers out there are all of the male variety.’

  Emma gave a grim smile. ‘That still doesn’t mean that all male humans desire power.’

  Mystic shrugged again. ‘If it’s not power, it’s something else. They always want something. Humans are greedy like that. Vanyir was very greedy.’ The cat stood up. ‘Anyway, I suggest you rest your brain for a while. You might need it when we reach Gunclove.’

  The cat trotted off and Emma forgot all about asking him of Mirth. She would ask him later, though, when they arrived at Gunclove. Maybe it was best to ask Mystic alone, rather than get the three of them upset about a Dragon Slayer. If he actually did go down in legend, she had yet to find out.

  ~ Chapter Twelve ~

  Red-Haired Tempest

  After a quick lunch, the group was up and riding once again. The dragons had drunk out of Serpent’s Pass and caught their own food, while Matt had pulled a tray of assorted food products out of one of the knapsacks. It had Madam McGee’s Treats written across the top of the box and inside hid homemade cookies and baked bread. A weird combination, Emma had decided, but it was all absolutely delicious.

  The heaviness in the air did not slack. In fact, it only became worse the farther across the Outlands they rode. When the sun ascended to the centre of the sky, the heat was tremendous, and Emma took off her sweater, yet still uncomfortable in just a brown strap-shirt. She had wished – several times – just to jump into the river to her right. The water looked so cool and sparkling. It was very tempting.

  The idea was lost, however, as the air made her drowsy and her eyes closed, allowing her to drift off into a mindless consciousness. She was not asleep, but every sound seemed to tangle around her until all she heard were desert whisperings. The wind, the blowing sand, the pounding of dragon feet … all distorted into one blurred sound, like a drifting melody in the air – a tune that seemed quite familiar to her, yet very strange. In the far distance, she could almost hear the faint hum of voices.

  ‘Emma?’

  The waking world was different than Emma last remembered it. The sun was lower in the sky now, and both dragons seemed to have stopped. Mystic was staring up at her from the saddle, looking more amused than ever at the tired and confused expression on her face.

  ‘What?’ she said, too drowsy to think up anything else to say.

  ‘We’re here.’

  The words brought her back to complete awareness and she glanced out across the rough, cracked desert ground to see the sandy-coloured walls of a wide square. She frowned and narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what she was exactly looking at.

  ‘Gunclove,’ said Mystic, seeing her struggle with the layout of the town. ‘Four walls surround the town. It keeps out the drifting sand.’

  Now that he had said it, Emma thought she could see an opening on the side facing them. It was hard to distinguish, though, as the colours all mixed together. The walls were cracked and old, but they seemed sturdy enough to withstand the harsh weather of the Outlands.

  ‘Do we leave our dragons out here to hide?’ questioned Simon, glancing at his brother. He pointed to a cluster of thick trees not far from where they were. ‘They could stay there.’

  ‘The Dragon Marauders might ask us how we crossed the Outlands, though,’ Mystic mused. ‘What would we tell them then?’

  ‘We crossed on foot,’ said Matt. ‘It took us two days from the White Rock.’

  Mystic snorted, but said nothing more. Emma had no idea how long it would take to travel without a dragon, but according to the speed they travelled – which was quite possibly faster than a car – she figured it might have taken them far longer than just two days to cross the barren Outlands on foot.

  ‘What about our backpacks?
’ enquired Simon. ‘What if they try to take our things? Should we leave them with the dragons?’

  ‘No, that’s a chance we’re going to have to take,’ said Mystic. ‘Odds are that the band of ruffians waiting inside those walls will have nothing to offer to strangers.’ He paused, thinking on something, and then added, ‘Bring your weapons, too.’

  After Matt and Simon hid the dragons within the trees – which offered more cover than Emma imagined – they each swung a knapsack over their shoulder and took their swordsticks as Mystic instructed. Shartaug lowered himself to the ground, tired from the trip, but Redfyre stood until Simon was far out of sight.

  The walk to Gunclove – even though it was a short one – was somewhat unbearable. Emma knew why dragons were so helpful with desert crossings now. Walking on foot would be close to impossible. The earth was hard and boiling hot, and sometimes her foot would catch on a wide crevice, causing her to trip. She only fell once, though, and when she rose and looked at her hands, they were warm from the contact with the ground.

  Two sentries stood watch at the entrance to Gunclove, but they were very unlike the ones who guarded the Compound back in Dwenin – which now seemed almost a lifetime away to Emma. These guards dressed in baggy clothes with tattered scarves and hoods. They wore ripped gloves and thick, leather boots. One of them had no sleeves to his large shirt, and showed off several tattoos of slinking dragons running up his arms. Both of them carried long swords at their sides.

  ‘Here we go,’ murmured Matt, his face an expressionless, blank look. The four of them stopped a safe distance away from the reach of the guards’ swords, who both now gripped the handles of their weapons.

  The one on the left – with light strands of hair escaping his grey hood – said, ‘Turn around or carry on past here.’

  ‘We don’t mean any trouble,’ said Matt. ‘We only want to spend the night here.’

  The second guard nodded at the stick in Matt’s hands. ‘What is that if it isn’t trouble?’ he asked. His gruff voice fitted him perfectly, Emma decided. He looked towards Simon, and then drew his weapon a little out of its case. ‘The other one has a Vashgal swordstick too.’

  Vashgal, thought Emma, somewhat alarmed. What would they be doing with weapons from that place?

  The information seemed to disturb Simon, who said, ‘We’re not from the Black Fortress, if that’s what you’re implying.’

  Matt gave his brother an annoyed look, but then turned back to the guards, who were silently deciding whether or not they should draw their swords on the newcomers. ‘We picked them up from a Dark Rider’s grave,’ he said. ‘Dead riders have no more use for their weapons.’

  The light-haired guard seemed to be considering this information, but the tattooed one was not so convinced. He whispered to his companion, ‘The leader will have our heads if we let Black Fortress spies pass through here.’

  ‘If we were spies, we would have killed you by now,’ spoke up Mystic from the ground. Both sentries seemed quite surprised by his humanlike voice. ‘But I suppose you aren’t clever enough to figure that out on your own, now are you?’

  The tattooed guard glared down at the cat. ‘Miserable, ancient creature,’ he retorted. ‘You shouldn’t be listening so keenly.’

  The first sentry, however, was quite curious of the cat and he bent down towards the creature. What happened next occurred very quickly. Mystic took a step back, while Matt gripped the centre of his swordstick, releasing the blades at each end. His weapon glided up towards the light-haired guard’s throat, but the tattooed man’s sword had somehow found its way to Matt’s neck at the same time. Simon, meanwhile, had his swordstick pointed at the second guard’s stomach. The three holding the weapons falsely smiled at one another.

  ‘All right,’ murmured the light-haired sentry, slowly backing away from Mystic, who seemed quite uncomfortable.

  The tattooed guard moved his sword away from Matt’s throat and the two brothers lowered their own weapons, but kept the blades out.

  ‘Will you listen to us now?’ questioned Matt, narrowing his eyes at the sentries.

  The first guard slowly nodded. ‘You give us a reason why you need to stay and I will let you pass.’

  ‘Drayskuls are roaming the Outlands,’ explained Matt. ‘They are very close to Gunclove. If we go on past here, they will find and kill us.’

  ‘Drayskuls!’ exclaimed the second guard. He looked to his companion, and then back to Matt. ‘Why didn’t you say that before? How far away are they?’

  ‘We saw them last heading east from the White Rock,’ said Simon quickly. ‘But we don’t know if they stayed behind and followed us this far, or if they kept moving until they reached their base.’

  ‘We saw nothing pass by here on our watch,’ said the light-haired guard.

  ‘I was afraid of that,’ muttered Mystic. His voice was lower than before and he kept his eyes to the ground, away from the gazes of the guards. ‘They must have followed us. Their senses are sharp. They might even be lying in wait for us as we speak.’

  Emma looked over her shoulder, wary of his words. If the senses of the drayskuls were so sharp, wasn’t there a possibility that they could find the dragons?

  ‘Let us pass,’ said Matt, releasing the centre of his weapon. The blades automatically receded. ‘We won’t cause any trouble.’ He smiled. ‘Vanyir is as much of an enemy to us as he is to you.’

  The tattooed guard looked a bit unnerved by what Matt had just said, mainly because of the name he mentioned. The light-haired sentry, however, seemed to just smile right back. He turned and said, ‘Follow me.’

  Matt went first, followed by Simon and then Emma. Mystic trailed behind, wary of the light-haired guard, and walked close to Emma’s footsteps.

  They passed through the gap in the sand-coloured wall and entered Gunclove. Instead of more sand, as Emma expected, the ground turned to old stone. The houses were the same colour as the walls surrounding the town, square with hollow windows and flat roofs. Ragged cloth covered the narrow doorways, blowing back and forth in the gentle wind. So far, only one house was distinctly wider than the rest, with metal bars across the windows. A darkened face looked out through the gap in the railing and Emma glanced away, frightened of the place.

  Narrow alleyways with sloping sand hills lay between all the houses. Some kids were playing in one, creating castles in the miniature dunes with buckets. A woman with a concealed face and twin knives at her side stood near the children. Her eyes were dark and wistful.

  The guard led them to the far end of the town, to a tall two-storey house with three windows – two on the first level and one on the second. This house had a wooden door, unlike the other homes that lined the stone streets. The guard pushed the door open and ushered them all inside.

  The room had no lights, just the rays of sunlight that shone in through the two windows. There was a bare table to one side with a line of cupboards nailed into the stony wall, and a hearth at the other side, the area above blackened from flames.

  ‘My name is Titus, by the way,’ said the light-haired sentry. He pulled down his hood and scarf, revealing his wiry, blonde hair and young face.

  ‘Matt,’ said the eldest Wheeler brother. He pointed to the others and introduced them all, Titus nodding to each in turn. His gaze lingered long on Emma, who turned away, as uncomfortable as Mystic had looked earlier.

  ‘Our leader is upstairs,’ said Titus, walking to the back of the room, where a stairway hid in the shadows. His boots were loud on the stony floor.

  They followed him up the wooden stairway, which only had seven steps in total, into a smaller room with two beds and a desk. A faded burgundy mat covered the centre of the floor and near the window stood a young man, his blue eyes fixed out over the town. His wild, spiky, red hair shone brightly in the scorching sun streaming in through the window, a few locks pulled together at the back held fast by dark string. He dressed very similar to Titus, except for the silver piercings in his lef
t ear and his white scarf, which did not cover his face, but rather hung baggily around his neck and draped almost to the floor.

  Emma could not help but gawk at him. He looked exactly like a thief would look, like a drawing come to life, or a character escaped from a video game. She erased the look from her face when he turned their way, though.

  ‘Who are they?’ his question was directed at his guard.

  ‘Travellers,’ answered Titus. He nodded towards Matt. ‘He says they are enemies of Vanyir.’

  The leader let his hard gaze fall upon Matt. ‘You look familiar,’ was all he said.

  ‘They might be able to help us,’ said Titus quietly, leaning one hand on his sword handle. ‘I have a feeling.’

  ‘You always have feelings,’ snapped the red-haired leader. He turned back to the window. ‘Get rid of them.’

  Before Titus could even make a protest to this, Matt had released the blades of his swordstick. But the leader was quick too, as he had already pulled out his sword, aiming it at Matt’s chest.

  ‘Dare to challenge me?’ said the leader, his eyes narrowing. ‘I can assure your death. No one crosses swords with me and lives to tell the tale.’

  Simon looked anxiously towards his brother, but Matt did not seem unnerved by the threat. He simply said, ‘Your name is Flynn, isn’t it? Captain of the Dragon Marauders?’

  Flynn seemed to smile at the mention of his name and title. He lowered his sword. ‘Well, aren’t you clever? Where did you learn that?’

  ‘You were the only one who ever singlehandedly fought a drayskul and lived to tell the tale,’ replied Matt, not actually answering the question.

  Flynn’s smile faded. Little did anyone know, Mystic had kindly passed this information on to Matt while the group had been resting out in the desert. The cat knew a great deal of secrets about the Dragon Marauders, but ever since he passed the walls of Gunclove he had kept his mouth shut.

  The leader suddenly grabbed Matt by the collar of his green riding jacket. ‘Who told you that?’ he hissed.